


Solubility

by CrownsofLaurels (laurel1020)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Pre-Canon, and then life happened, most likely, once upon a time your parents were cute, trigger warning:manipulative mother-in-laws (why is this not a thing yet?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25676116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurel1020/pseuds/CrownsofLaurels
Summary: Utsui Takashi just wants to play volleyball.Ushijima Shizuka just wants to feel warm.But sometimes, even when you get what you want it's not the happy ending of your dreams.AKA: Did you know the fandom needed a story about how Ushijima Wakatoshi's parents got together and fell apart?Neither did I.Yet here we are.
Relationships: Utsui Takashi/Ushijima's Mother
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9
Collections: Creative Chaos Discord Recs





	Solubility

Utsui Takashi discovers volleyball because Ren-kun’s older brother, Jiro-san, likes soccer.

He and Ren-kun stand at the edge of the big open space on the playground, where some stolen trash cans act as soccer nets as Jiro and his other burly pre-teen friends race up and down, shoes digging muddy tracks in the grass.

“I bet Souji has a ball, and we could steal the trash cans,” Takashi offers optimistically.

“Nah.” Ren-kun wipes his nose on his shirt. “Nii-san will just stuff us in them,” he rationalized, with the air of someone who suffered such a fate once before. “Besides, where would we play anyway? They’re hogging the field.”

Takashi pouts. “We can take ‘em.”

“They have, like, fifty pounds and six years on us, Takashi-kun.”

“I can take ‘em.” Takashi’s tone is belligerent and he moves forward aggressively—squawking indignantly when Ren-kun pulls the back of Takashi’s shirt so hard it cuts off his air.

“No you can’t, Takashi-kun. But we can take the popsicles in the fridge while they’re all out here playing. And then we can go play on the volleyball court, they’ve left that empty.”

Takashi willingly pivots and follows his friend to a sweet, if perishable victory, and then to the no-good older brother’s room to grab the no-good older brother’s volleyball, neglected under a pile of very smelly clothes.

It isn’t the most promising of starts to a sports career, but when it’s the only thing you can play (at least until Ren-kun’s no-good older brother graduates), it grows on you. Which is totally fine, once he and Ren-kun and the couple of other scraggly seven year olds that occasionally join them figure out how to hit the ball back and forth. And when Takashi realizes that he’s going to be one of the tallest in the class every year, that his height isn’t a temporary thing, it’s even better.

Still, it’s a little bit much when he joins an _actual_ team in middle school.

“Good grief, did you learn to play volleyball or dodgeball?” Coach Yamashita is always grumbling at him, snapping at him to hold his wrists that way and stand this way and plant your legs ahhh--- Playing according to real rules almost takes all the fun out of the game for him.

Almost.

It’s his second year of middle school when he’s ruled out being a setter because his brain just doesn’t think that way, and being a spiker’s just fine but he’s not the Ace, that’s Tai-kun (who, by the way, spikes with his left hand just as well his right and who can compete with that, is he right?), but blocking—wow. That feeling that you get when you’ve thrown your body as hard as you can as high as you can and it’s like you are hanging for a brief moment on top of the world, that dangling second before gravity kicks in and you can swing your arm and just break through someone’s carefully laid plans—regardless if they’re smarter, or work harder, or taller---that’s just, well, it’s so nice, like candy on the tongue—it’s like magic.

* * *

Ushijima Shizuka is doing well in her first year at Shiratorizawa Academy. She’s making acceptable grades, acceptable friends, and engaging in only acceptable activities. She’s not particularly passionate about any of her school subjects, she’d much rather be soaking up the sun in her family’s traditional water garden. However, she’s content to be the type of friend that sits quietly at the edges of the group, providing a willing victim for more enthusiastic friends to tow from one adventure to the next, to and froing like an abandoned seashell in the surf. She finds life is best lived that way, making no waves that might disturb her mother’s plans for her any more than she already has by being born female.

But one day, the chirpy Miya-chan grabs Shizuka by the sleeve of her white uniform jacket and sweeps her through a crowd of giggling teenage girls to the edge of the boy’s gym, peaking through the doorway to watch the boy’s volleyball team have their last practice before a national tournament.

That’s when she sees him. The first time.

Well, it’s really the ball she sees first because it’s speeding toward her face like the soda bottle rockets they made in the science lab, and she’s frozen—breath stuck in her throat, eyes wide— Miya-chan is squeaking and pulling her back so quickly that one of the buttons snaps off her blazer with a _pop_ , but it’s not needed because _he’s_ there—

“Got it!” A deep cheery voice is ringing in her ears, counterpoint to the rapid thudding of her heart, and then the tallest boy she’s ever met is turning toward her with an easy grin as he sheepishly raises his hand and tilts his head.

She remains motionless with shock as his eyes meet hers, and this has never happened before and now she can’t breathe for a completely different reason but she can’t bring herself to look away either—oh this is so terribly akward!

“I’m so sorry, you’re ok right? I hit it back before it got you!”

He’s still smiling as he talks and she’s still a little lost, Miya-chan taking over to reassure the boy that her stoic friend is just a little shaken (“she can’t talk to anyone—don’t feel bad”). That’s embarrassing, but true. Shizuka’s gathering her courage to speak for herself, maybe say hello (it’s a stretch but she wants to try), but he’s already bouncing on his heels and flying away—the back of his jersey proudly introducing him as “Utsui” and #3.

Shizuka blinks, lips parted, but Miya-chan has her arm again (“Come on, come on, he told us we could stay if we went up to the bleachers!”) and she spends the rest of the first volleyball match she ever sees watching from above, heart still beating a little fast, fingers plucking nervously at the hem of her skirt.

Miya-chan's eyes are predatory and her tone is sly as the practice match finishes. “You know they’re playing in the national tournament this weekend in Tokyo, right? The finals should be on Sunday, think your mother might loosen the chains and let you out?” Shizuku blinks her brown eyes back at her friend, slowly. “I can go,” she whispers soft but firm. Oka-san would never let her go to Tokyo unchaperoned with just some girlfriends, but she’d absolutely let Shizuka spend the day with a friend studying for their upcoming exams.

And for the first time, Shizuka rides the train into Tokyo with three of her friends, watching the countryside flash by in bursts of green and blue. Her stomach is churning terribly, a slick-snaky feeling roiling and tight at lying to her mother, but it’s slowly washed away as she and her school mates cheer the boy’s team through the finals match to victory, draining drop by drop each time she sees Utsui-san laugh as he swats the ball. (“Spikes,” Miya-chan tells her, but the one time she calls it that Miya-chan says, “No, that’s a block” and so Shizuka has no idea if those are actually correct terms or Miya-chan’s just having her on.)

Afterward, she and Miya-chan linger on the stadium steps with two thirds of the female population of her high school, waiting for one last chance to congratulate the victors before they load their bus and head home. When the boys finally appears, the crowd rushes forward and presses in on them like a giant wave, and Shizuka remains behind, too shy to speak up or punch through, but in an odd moment Utsui-san twists by her, catching her eyes as he grins.

“Oye- it’s you, glad you could make it—urk,” he’s gone again in a second as a teammate hooks a strong arm about his neck, but he’s laughing and loud and smiling and Shizuka catches the joy anyway and smiles back, as if she could steal a piece of the moment for herself, even for a minute.

It’s such a warm thing, Utsui’s smile, that it tinges her cheeks peek the entire train ride home (well that and Miya-chan’s teasing). How nice it would be to have something that warm and joyful all the time, keeping her company in the hallways of her museum-like home. It’d be like bringing the sunshine of the garden inside, she thinks, wrapping her arms around herself as she wishes she could the moment. She presses her check against the window glass, street lights flying like fireflies past her view.

It’s almost like magic.

* * *

Takashi smiles as he rings up his surly customer’s makunouchi bento . The grim man juggles a magazine and the sack of food, ignoring the store clerk, per usual, and escaping hastily from Lawson’s doors while Takashi is left behind to discreetly check his watch.

His co-worker snickers. “Are you really that eager to go run laps and hit things?”

“Always!” Takashi stretches, wincing as his shoulder clicks when he rolls it, a deep, unsettled ache flaring up once more.

“I saw that.” Sato-kun looks at him appraisingly. “You said you’d get that checked out if it kept bothering you.”

“It’s not so bad.” Takashi brushes him off.

“You said that last time.” Sato’s voice echoes oddly as he sticks his head in a box to gather the last of the drinks for re-stocking. “And then you were all mopey for like, three months after that surgery and then—"

“We’re mid-season, no time to see a doctor.” Takashi banishes the memory of jolting awake at 2 a.m. that morning from pain. “Jammed fingers hurt worse!” He wiggles his bruised left fingers at the younger man, his pinky curling at an awkward angle, no longer able to stay straight after a bad break on the university team.

“Ughh,” Sato-kun cradles the bottles of Pocari Sweat closely. “Keep your gross, deformed fingers away from me. You’re supposed to be the more mature person, Mr. College Grad. If your adorable kouhai is telling you that even he thinks you should see the doctor—”

“Oh, look at the time!” Takashi cheers as he jumps over the counter (he’d never do that if the manager were here, he swears, but he’d also never seen an opportunity to make a flashy jump he’d passed up), heading to the stockroom to exchange his striped blue uniform shirt for his practice jersey.

Later, on the bench in the locker room, he twists off some medical tape for his hands and tosses the remainder of the roll to Harada.

“You ready for this!?!” Their libero bounces up and down clapping. “I heard their might be scouts today!”

“Girl scouts?” Snickers Endo.

“Why? What?” Aoki, their captain, swats Endo upside the head. “That’s not even a thing In Japan,” he despairs. “Why do you make jokes like this?”

“My jokes make as much sense as your insults!” Endo evades Aoki’s punch to the shoulder and maneuvers a few people away from his reach.

“Real scouts, Division 1 Scouts,” stresses Harada, focusing on the single topic as well as he focused on the ball.

Takashi feels the nervous energy spiking through him, the type of buzz he might get if he tried to eat an entire bag of kit-kats at once (Thank you for that memory, Ren-kun).

“No one’s getting scouted if you don’t stretch first.” Aoki scowls at the smaller man, before tripping over Ishii-kun, whose legs are sprawled out on the floor.

“I was stretching, just like you said!”

Aoki’s eye twitches. “Ishii, for shit’s sake tie your shoes, you’re 23 not 3!”

“See Captain, your insults aren't effective, because they just don’t make sense,” sings Endo, whipping out a towel to hit Ishii-kun in the back of the head.

“Oww!”

“Case in point, that works much better,” Endo hoots as Ishii springs up and chases him from the room.

Takashi basks in the locker room banter that’s been the chorus of his life, humming happily as he finishes wrapping his left hand.

Aoki sinks next to him with a sigh. “How are those fingers?”

“Eh,” Takashi flexes his hand and curls the fingers, before slapping his knee. “They’ll work,” he pronounces with a grin.

“And your shoulder?”

Takashi refrains from shrugging (he’d wince, and then he’d really be in for it). “Not a problem!”

“You sure—”

“It’s good!”

“Utsui-san, you rushed back into play after surgery, if you don’t let it heal right next time—”

* _FWEET_ *

The shriek of the whistle beckons them forth, and while its muffled some by the locker room walls,its an ever recognizable command to a dozen men who spend more time in gyms than in their own apartments.

His teammates stumble like puppies onto the court, full of bumbling energy, stepping on each other’s toes and blindly throwing elbows when jokes became a little too personal.

“Utsui-san, with me!”

Takashi jogs over to Abe-san, his fellow middle blocker, and lines up for warm up drills.

Hayashi-san sets the ball, and it flows up in a smooth arc as Abe-san runs up and bats it down across the net, the ball hitting the hardwood floor with a satisfying smack. And then it’s his turn, and it is run, jump, spike, return to the end of the line and repeat. His shoulder quakes a bit, but his spike is powerful. He could switch hands but while he could hit sometimes with his left hand he just wasn’t as good with it—as his fingers could currently attest. He’d have to go with the right hand today, at least for most things, even if the shoulder was still bothering him.

He’s jumping up to spike the ball, swing his arm forward when suddenly, it just won’t swing. It’s stuck wedged tight and not moving through the full stroke, it’s that feeling when you step in gum, and you try to pull your foot up but can’t because the floor is trying to suck you back—but with an arm instead of a leg, and he’s hanging there, in his favorite moment on top of the world, and then gravity catches him and falls back to Earth, falls to one knee before he can blink—

“Whoa, whoa, whoa—” The murmur intended to soothe is almost to faint to hear over the roar of the pain in his shoulder, in his chest, and he’s blinking fast, hard, fighting back the liquid in his eyes and the bile in his throat.

* _FWEET_ *

The whistle rings, a cruel sound this time, a scolding call, and Aoki has his arm, he thinks.

Or maybe it’s Abe-san, he can’t quite tell with his vision so blurry.

“Utsui-san? Utsui?” That’s the captain, and between several people he’s being pulled over to the sidelines, but despite the cluster of abnormally tall men swarming him, they can’t obscure his Coach’s somber eyes and clenched jaw.

And Takashi knows it’s over.

* * *

“Second term grades are in.” Shizuka begins the conversation with her mother an hour after dinner, as her mother enjoys some roasted rice tea .

“I’m second in my class.”

Her mother nods graciously, eyes closed as she savors the smell wafting up from the yunomi teacup she grips in her fingers.

“My professors say my prospects are excellent if I continue my work. I should be able to pass the hiring examination for any prefecture.”

Oka-san’s dark eyes blink slowly at her, in wonder. “You don’t need to pass a hiring exam.”

“No.” Agreed Shizuka mildly, shifting on the zabuton.

She waits a few moments, to see if her mother has anything else to add.

She doesn’t.

“I think I’d like to live in an apartment on campus for the rest of the year.” Shizuka’s eyes are locked firmly on her clasped hands, folded together in her lap over her long wool skirt.

“Oh?” Oka-san’s rebuke is gentle and her face placid as she sips her tea, sitting on the cushion across the kotatsu from her daughter.

Shizuka remains firm. “One of my friends is looking for a last-minute roommate. I think it would be good to have some experience living on my own before I get a job.”

Her mother’s silence is deafening.

“I might have to move away for a job.”

Oka-san sets down her empty cup on the tabletop.

Shizuka automatically leans forward to refill it, taking small pride from the fact that her hands aren’t shaking.

“Why do you need a job?” Her mother’s nose scrunches, as if the very word leaves an unwelcome aftertaste. “I thought you liked living at home. An apartment in the city won’t have a garden.”

Shizuka frowns. “That’s true.” She isn’t one to pick fights over truths. “I’d miss the garden. But I’d like a job, I think. I’d like to be constructive with my time, productive. And maybe I will find different gardens in the city.” She refrains from biting her lip, a bad habit. “After all, a frog in a well does not know the great sea.”

“Only children of frogs are frogs.” Oka-san’s dark eyes and pursed lips convey her disagreement well enough. “Are you a frog, Shizuka-san?”

Shizuka straightens, realizing her mother has caught her slouching again. “No, Oka-sama.”

“You can be constructive at home.” Her mother’s tone is flat, and she tags the next proclamation on almost in after-thought. “There is construction and productivity in marriage.”

Shizuka’s gaze drops back to her hands, running her fingers over the bitten fingernails. “I haven’t seen Chiba-san recently.”

The chill in the air sinks through to her bones and she shivers, letting her gaze fall left, where the shoji is open, showing off a small pond and sculpted evergreen black pines. Unless it’s snowing, Oka-san always leaves the shoji open in this room.

Oka-san is a terribly patient creature, and eventually Shizuka caves to the inevitable. “Your one rule for who I marry is that they marry into our family.”

She picks up her own drink to warm her hands. “Chiba-san is not willing to do so.”

The wind whistles a bit as a gust blows by and Shizuka shifts her body further under the kotatsu blanket.

“Ah,” her mother’s smile unfurls slowly, at a crawl. “You have time still, to meet someone. You do not need to hurry.”

Shizuka looks blankly at the brown water swirling in her yunomi. She raises her head and watches the first flakes of snow fall softly on the top of the pond.

She supposes that’s it then.

* * *

Unloading boxes of inventory from trucks is much harder one-handed.

Takashi would be bitter about it, but mostly it means that he can guilt trip his co-workers into doing the heavy lifting for a few months.

Until then, in the blue sling it remains and he’s demoted to unpacking pastries and cash register duty.

The chime of the phone in the back room breaks him from his day dreaming in the mostly empty storefront— “I’ll get it!” Takashi blinks as a blue and brown bob rushes past him to get the phone, back door slamming shut and leaving him the only human in the room.

Takashi blows his bangs out of his eyes with a huff (turns out it’s just as difficult to cut your hair with one arm as it is to carry boxes). He misses Sato-san, but he left for a “real job” with the rest of the crew that graduated college, and a new batch of seventeen-year old part timers rolled in.

Aiko’s giggling was loud enough to be heard through the door. “No, no, are orders are on Thursdays, not Fridays, but I’m happy to see you anytime—”

He stomps over to the door, plies it open an inch—“The distributors aren’t your boyfriends, Aiko—”

“At least I have one, old man!” Aiko slams the door back shut as she snarls.

Takashi’s lips turn down in a pout. He’s pretty sure Aiko’s blocked the door with the manager’s chair, and he can’t get that open in his current condition.

He turns back to the store and drops his shoulders with a sigh, sweeping his gaze across the floor, looking for something to do. He was almost a decade too old for this shit. It made sense while he was an athlete, but—

His eyes snag on a magazine, the fierce expression on the cover, belonging to Nakagaichi Yūichi , stops him short.

And then the crack of thunder outside the store snaps him back.

He watches the downpour a bit dazedly—didn’t the forecast say it would be sunny all day? His fingers twitch toward the volleyball magazine.

His ears strain for sound from the backroom—Aiko’s gone quiet. Either she’s sneaking in a call to her boyfriend or she’s painting her nails.

The streets outside are quickly filling with slickly running water, all cement with no where for the water to move but further down the sidewalk.

His good hand closes on the smooth pages containing an interview with Nakagaichi-san.

No one is going to be out in this.

He’s leaning on the counter with his good arm, so engrossed in Nakagaichi-san’s preparations for the upcoming Olympics in Barcelona that the chime of the door opening doesn’t even register. 

* * *

Shizuka’s elation over her first job interview dies a quick death when the skies open and the deluge begins.

She grits her teeth and ducks into the nearest convenience store, pondering on the mysterious fate of the polka-dot umbrella that she brought on the train that morning, just in case the local weather station's 15% chance of afternoon showers materialized into certain reality.

The clerk doesn’t even look up when she enters, blankly staring at a magazine on the counter top, one arm cradled against his chest in a sling.

She calms down as the tumultuous storm is muted by the barriers of Lawson’s walls and wonders if she can outwait nature or if she should buy a new umbrella and make a run for it. Her leather heels click sharply against the tile floor, a reminder that running through muddy city street puddles might not be the best idea. She sneaks a quick peak at the clerk once more and then retreats to the rows of perishable breads. He’s still not looking and she feels her posture fall, appreciating the false sense of privacy given how waterlogged she’s feeling.

She meanders through the few aisles, stalling her departure. She’s reading the list of ingredients on a box of strawberry pocky when a loud * _GRWARGG_ * pierces the silence of the store, the foreign gurgle startling not only her but also the store clerk who looks up with raised eyebrows. As she comes to the quick but unfortunate realization that the unexpected noise was her stomach protesting her decision to skip lunch that day, the same realization seems to dawn on the clerk, who is aiming a boyish grin her way. A grin which is sparking a memory in the back of her mind, but she can’t focus on that for the embarrassment caused be her traitor stomach. She ducks her head and marches stiffly to the shelf with the onigiri.

She pushes her purchases across the counter along with some 500 yen coins, but can’t help but stare when she gets her first clear look at the clerk’s face, her brain starting to tickle her once more.

The boy—no, man, he’s clearly at least as old as she is, shifts his weight from one foot to another under her stare as he rings up her items.

“I hurt it in a game, it’ll be fine.” His gruff voice breaks her trance.

“What? Oh,” she’s blushing again. Dammit. “I’m so sorry! No!” She’s waving her hands in protest. “I wasn’t staring at your arm—I just, you look so familiar! So sorry!” She has her hands clasped and her head bowed, but he’s already starting to laugh at her.

“I look familiar, huh?” She’s envious that he doesn’t seem to share in any of her social awkwardness.

“Do you follow volleyball? I played for the Sendai Tsunami for a while.” His chest puffs up proudly.

“Uh,” she peeks up at him from under her bangs, slowly, as if she’s a turtle coming out of its shell. “Not really. I mean, I think I saw a few of my school team’s games back in high school.”

His smile dims, his gaze flicks down and to the left, where the magazine he was looking at before is resting.

She wants it back. Her fists clench, fingers brushing the edges of the cuff of her jacket, a little too long in the arms, like always. “I watched them win nationals one year, that was quite something!” Oooh, that’s too many words! Her nails dig into her palms.

“Oh,” he pauses as he puts her food in a sack, suddenly thoughtful. “You didn’t go to Shiratorizawa Academy for high school, did you?”

“Yes,” she straightens up, brown eyes wide. “Yes, I did!”

His focus narrows studiously on her face. “I think I remember you!” His hazel eyes mirror hers, wide and bright, and his smile is catching. “You’re the mute girl!”

Her heart drops to her heels. “What!” She gapes at him in surprise.

“I mean—I, your friend said!” He’s stuttering in his defense, face finally as red as hers, hand raised behind his tilted head. “She said you couldn’t talk!”

Shizuka’s distantly recalling huddling around a door frame with her girlfriends, giggling at the boys practicing after school, a ball flying toward her face and Miya apologizing on her behalf because—

“She didn’t mean that literally!” Shizuka is rarely angry, but she feels that foreign monster rearing up inside her now, but it might just be humiliation. “I’m just shy!” She wails and her hands flutter weakly before she gives in to the urge to bury her face in them.

“Hey now, hey now,” His voice is alarmed now, sounding closer, he must be leaning over the counter. “I’m so sorry, you know there’s nothing wrong with being mute—”

“That’s not the point!” She yells. Well, she tries to yell, but she’s pretty sure it’s muffled in the sleeves of her suit jacket and comes out as “Thssnstntpthh!”

“Well, you know, selective mutism is a thing----”

“Ughh, stop talking!” …

He makes a sad ‘meep’ sounding noise, apparently taking her literally again.

Seconds tick by.

She’s about to swallow the lump in her throat and rally to face her high school crush again.

She peeks out from between her fingertips, he’s holding out her sack and looking just as sheepish as that time she almost got hit in the face with the volleyball.

She takes in a breath— * _GRAWAHHH_ *

She freezes in shock.

His eyes widen. “Is that your stomach again?” He sets the sack down on the counter.

She’s going to die in a Lawson convenience store.

“That would be a terrible fate.” He laughs and leans even further over the counter, grin fierce. “How about I take you out to dinner instead?”

Oh god, she said that out loud.

It’s going to take her another five minutes before she can remove her hands from her face, but she can’t help the upward twitch of her lips as she manages to respond.

“Ok.”

* * *

Ushijima Midori wakes every morning, as the sun’s warm rays slowly inch their way across the tatami floors, digging and pulling like cat’s claws across the covers of her futon until they finally stroke her aging face.

She opens her eyes to a quiet room, the sole occupant of a grand tomb, as she has been for the past twenty years. She brushes her hair, pulling it up into an impeccably coiled chignon at the base of her neck, exchanges her sleeping yukata for the day’s attire, and pads quietly on socked feet to the kitchen to gather a tray of rice and a cup of tea.

She takes her meager offerings into a small room off of the area next to her favorite garden, where she enjoys taking most of her meals. In this room, she values focus, privacy, and few distractions. As she kneels behind closed shoji doors, she opens the gilded doors of the Ushijima butsudan and is greeted by the somber eyes of her husband’s family portraits, still sitting in solemn judgment, as they sat on the first day she met them in 1965, carefully coached on appropriate behavior by the nakōdo, her husband’s uncle and father’s business partner.

Most of these portraits are practically strangers to her, but they were dear to her husband, a man with a soft voice and gentle hands who asked so little of her, so she honors them in memory of his affection. And most prominent, of course, is the picture of him. She bows her head in prayer, and silently recites the same prayers she has repeated daily since her husband entrusted her with this important task. She concludes, as always, with a silent apology for not providing the male heir this family requested of her.

Opening her eyes, she sits back on her heels with her hands folded demurely in her lap.

“Now to the part I like best, talking with you, Hirotoshi.” she heaves a sigh larger than any she would permit herself if her child were around.

“I am sorry, Shizuka-san has not joined us again. She is very excited lately about her new job and living in the city, but I am sure she will be back soon.”

Midori pauses, allowing a few seconds of silence to permeate the air.

“Oh, how do I know? Well, teacher’s salaries do not pay much and soon she will realize how expensive living on her own can be and how little she can afford compared to what she can have in this home. And we raised a good daughter, Hirotoshi. She will not abandon her family.”

Midori smiles lightly at her husband’s portrait. “But she needs time to realize this on her own. Personal choices and personal lessons are lessons learned best.”

A few dust motes sail through the air. “Yes, it is lonely, but it is a temporary inconvenience. We have set high expectations but given her very few rules. Eventually, she will understand this and rise to meet them.”

“She told me she is seeing a boy in the city, no I don’t remember his name. Not from a family we know.” Midori scowls. “Do not be so disproving of someone you have not met. It is something shiny and new to her, let her have it for now. I have told you before, forbidding a child something just makes it more exciting, better to give them permission and be there when it burns.”

“I promise you,” Midori says warning, eyes narrowed, tired of her husband challenging her in an area of her expertise, “not knowing is Buddha.” Midori sniffs. “And if the flames run too wild then they will burn themselves out without any assistance.”

Midori enjoys the silence for a moment, allowing her husband’s spirit the opportunity to respond. She raises her eyebrows. “Well, if they need my assistance than I certainly will be sure that they leave thankful, rather than vengeful.”

She grows tired of her husband’s negative energy. “You’re underestimating me, as usual. But truly, do not worry, your family name and home will live on—it is the only thing we have every asked of Shizuka.”

* * *

Midori stares down her nose at her daughter, who kneels across the table, artfully plated sakura mochi sadly untouched by all parties present. “When I told you ‘giving birth to a baby is easier than worrying about it,’ I didn’t actually mean for you to go give birth to a baby.”

For the moment, she ignores the young man at her daughter’s side fidgeting uncomfortably and clearly straining to bite his tongue.

Shizuka-san is so flushed with embarrassment that she can do nothing but continue to stare at her food.

Midori allows her child to continue the conversation in her own time and enjoys some strawberries on her own plate. Mochi is bit sweet for her own tastes, although it has always been her child’s favorite.

“I—we,” Shizuka swallows nervously. “We didn’t intend for this to happen, but we want to keep the baby, Oka-sama.”

“Oh,” she raises her brows and finally addresses the handsome, if a bit twitchy, newcomer. “Is it going to be a “we,” then?”

He nods furiously, face almost as red as Shizuka’s. “I think very highly of your daughter, Ushijima-sama.” He bows, as deeply as he can while kneeling. “I am so sorry that the timing of events is out of order, but I desire nothing more than to take care of your daughter and our baby.”

Midori nods understandingly. “And how will you be taking care of Shizuka-san, then? Forgive me, we have not met and I do not know much about you or what you do?”

Ah, the boy can get as red as Shizuka-san. They’re a matching set now, how cute.

“Mmmm, that is—” Shizuka flicks harried eyes toward her lover, stumbling over her words. “Utsui-san was injured in his last job and can no longer do that line of work. He’s doing some part time temporary work now until he figures out what to do next.”

“Part time?”

“Yes,” he agrees haltingly. “As a store clerk.”

Midori nods, careful to keep any judgment off her face.

“And Shizuka-san, how will your job be affected?”

“Well, fortunately I’ve worked long enough to be covered by the school’s parental leave policy.” She blinks rapidly. “I’ll have 14 weeks of leave at 60% of pay and then up to an additional year of parental leave at only 40% of my pay, if I want to take that much time off that is. I'm so new, it might be better not to take it.”

“That is a significant pay-cut for someone with only a starting level salary,” Midori comments blandly, gaze venturing toward the garden. "And you'd need someone else to watch the baby if you both intend to be working."

Shizuka-san merely nods jerkily.

“With cost of living so high in the city, I imagine it would be hard to make ends meet and get the things a baby needs on that kind of budget.” Midori sets her own empty teacup down on the table and Shizuka-san mechanically leans forward to fill it.

“I suppose if you stayed here during that time it would allow you to save more money, and there would be more room for everyone too.” Midori notes the boy slump in relief at the offer out of the corner of her eyes. “If you’re getting married anyway, I would certainly welcome my son-in-law and grandchild into the family home at any time. And of course I'll watch the baby anytime.”

Utsui-san beams in gratitude.

Shizuka-san begins to unfurl like the spring garden flowers Midori is pretending to study intently.

“Only,” murmurs Midori, tapping her lip thoughtfully. “I have always hoped that Shizuka-san’s husband would marry into the family and take the Ushijima name, as I have no sons and my husband had no brothers or cousins. Seeing as you would be living in this house and your child would inherit this estate, would you terribly mind doing so, Utsui-san?”

The boy shakes his head in agreement. “It would be my honor, Ushijima-sama. I very much appreciate your willingness to take me into your family.”

Midori returns a polite smile. “Well, spilt water doesn’t return to the tray.”

It does, however, evaporate.

It just needs significant exposure to heat.

* * *

The repetitive thud of that dratted ball hitting the engawa is all Midori needs to locate her son-in-law.

“Takashi-san,” she greets, arms folded as the boy jumps up, scrambling to grab his toy.

“Please aim the ball at the gravel and not the porch.” She keeps her tone light and her smile gentle. “This home is quite old and I would hate to have it irreparably damaged in a fit of pique.”

“My apologies, Ushijima-sa—”

“Oka-san,” soothes Midori, “We are family now and even putting a hole through the shoji screen with your volleyball isn’t enough to revoke the privilege.”

“Oka-sama,” mumbles Takashi-san, bobbing his head awkwardly.

She internally sighs. It’s a work in progress. She’d given up on Shizuka long ago, she might just have to settle on this as well.

“Whatever is the matter,” she kneels down next to him, folding her legs gracefully. “You don’t strike me as the personality that sits constantly in the shade while the world goes by.”

Takashi slumps forward, curling protectively over the white ball in his lap.

“Shizuka-san will be home later tonight, if it is something you’d rather wait and discuss with her.”

Takashi winces. Shizuka left at 5 am in the morning to make it to her school on time and wouldn’t be back until 8 that night. Standing at the front of a classroom in heels for the majority of the work day could leave anyone tired and cranky. Add being 7 months pregnant, two rush hour train commutes and 30 minutes of walking to a rural house—no, Midori wouldn’t want to complain after staying home all day either.

“Is it the job?” She adds sugar to her voice to make it reassuring. “I know you’ve had several interviews lately, I’m sure the right opportunity will present itself shortly. What about that library position?”

Takashi presses his lips together. “No, I heard back from them today. They don’t have any openings.”

“Hmm.” Midori nods consolingly. She already knows this of course, she read the letter he’d left on the table earlier that day.

“Well, hopefully they’ll have a position open up in the fall, when most of the students head back to Sendai for school.”

“Yeah, maybe.” His head droops a bit, fingers tracing slowly over the ridges of his volleyball.

“Would you like to work in the garden?”

“Oh god,” he tenses fearfully. “Please don’t make me kill any more of your plants.”

She huffs. “You do seem to lack talent when it comes to all things green and growing.” She lets her gaze wander down the hilltop, toward the hedges lining the road that led into town and the nearest train station.

“Come now, there must be something you’re good at, that you enjoy doing.”

“I was good at volleyball.” A dramatic sigh. “But I made a stupid mistake and didn’t pay attention to an injury and now that path is closed.”

She says nothing.

He twirls the volleyball idly in his hands.

“I have some books I could lend you, if you’re looking for a way to pass the time.”

Takashi grins at her ruefully. “Thank you, but I’m not much of a reader.”

No. He really wasn’t.

His grin brightens like a light bulb. “I’m more a man of action!”

She plays along, laughing lightly. “Well, if you’ve that much action in you, perhaps you should head to Sendai too with all the other young people for school. You might find something else you’d like to do there, if there’s nothing interesting for you here. Nothing better for fixing the foolish mistakes of youth than a little wisdom after all—”

The volleyball twirls to a slow stop in his hands.

“And there’s no better place for that than a school.” She finishes the thought and leaves him on the porch, watching the sun melt into the Earth.

* * *

“No, I mean, yes, that’s wonderful, but—” Shizuka sets the plate she is washing down with a dull thud to better cradle the phone, coiling the extension cord around her wrist. “When are you coming home?”

Midori picks up the neglected plate and dries it, ignoring the conversation taking place next to her, it is the same one Shizuka had the previous week anyway. She steps over Wakatoshi-kun as she tends the dishes, the six-year old sprawling carelessly on his belly across the kitchen floor with some racecars.

“Why does it have to be that way? Why can’t we both figure out a way to work and be home? Takashi that’s not—” Shizuka cuts herself off mid-hiss, eyes flickering to her offspring regretfully. She pulls the phone into the next room and slides the shoji screen shut.

Midori holds out her hand to her grandson. “Come on Wakatoshi-kun, let’s say goodnight to your grandfather, ok?”

As she kneels in front of the butsudan, Wakatoshi kneeling beside her, Midori lets herself relax in contentment.

Even her daughter’s eventual re-emergence and shepherding of Wakatoshi to bed can not ruffle her serenity.

Eventually, Shizuka-san settles down beside her, sniffling.

Midori waits in the incense-filled silence, lights dim.

“Takashi wants us to go to America.”

Midori breathed in the fumes, enjoying the comforting scents, shoulders relaxed.

“I know you’re not ever going to leave this house.”

The solemn black and white photo of her husband peers down at them both.

“I’ve never left this house, not really. I have so many memories here—Wakatoshi was born here, I was born here—” Shizuka hiccoughs. “I love it here. I don’t even speak English!”

Her daughter swallows, voice rough. “And what about my job? The school I’m at now is only twenty minutes away, the administration likes me—the principal is set to retire in a few years and she says if I keep performing the way I am I could be promoted!”

“Oooo,” Shizuka grits her teeth in frustration. “I wish he’d never heard of this sports medicine program. Or that he could just be happy here with us. I don’t know why this can’t be enough!”

The distant sound of the phone ringing breaks the moment. They wait until it trails off to nothing. Shizuka must have turned off the answering machine.

Shizuka’s shoulders cave in and her fingers inch out to grab the edge of Midori’s yukata. “Oka-san,” she whispers. “Oka-san, he says if we don’t go, then he won’t stay either. He says it’ll be over.” Her voice is choked, “Oka-san, is it my fault? Did I do something wrong?”

"Of course not Shizuka-chan," Midori's murmur is low and smooth. "You only ever asked him to join the family. If that’s something he can no longer commit to, then perhaps its better for him to go now, rather than later. " She pats her daughter's hand once, lightly. "Let it be a quick, clean break. Painful in the short term, but something that doesn’t pick you apart as slowly as years of separation.”

Shizuka rests her head against her mother’s shoulder. “Can I fix this?”

“Oh, Shizuka-chan,” Midori sighs wearily. “Idiocy is only cured by death.”

Shizuka sniffs. “That’s a bit harsh.”

Midori says nothing as she feels her yukata growing damp.

The phone rings again, distantly.

“I should go get that,” Shizuka’s voice dull with resignation. “Before he wakes Wakatoshi.”

Midori pats her hand again before she goes. Shizuka slides the shoji screen shut behind her.

Midori regards the portrait of her husband thoughtfully. “I told you that you were underestimating me.”

The incense wafts uncertainly in the air.

“Don’t,” she sniffs superiorly. “It’s not her fault that her husband’s first love is that silly sport.”

She leans forward to wipe away a smudge from the photo glass, probably left by a child’s sticky fingers. “Now that he’s found a way to return to his first mistress, the shine of the second is growing tinny.” She looks blankly at her husband. “Well, of course she’s sad now, but that was inevitable. I knew as soon as I met him that it wasn’t the best match.”

She scowled. “Don’t give me that, he traded in his family name like it was a slice of watermelon the same day we met him.” Midori crossed her arms haughtily. “Yes, Hirotoshi, I know that it’s what I asked him to do. But the two of them were like oil and water, they were never going to mix. She valued family, he valued happiness—and today he chose the latter by paying for it with the former. That’s certainly not something either of us want Wakatoshi-kun picking up. Better for him to leave now so that the only echo of his legacy is a fondness for playing a children’s game, and leave Shizuka free to remarry someone invested in her life and not in reliving days of glory past.”

She leaned forward to gift a genuine smile to her husband before closing up the butsudan for the night. “They made their choices entirely by themselves, after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This started as a cute rom-com one-shot for one of my sister's Haikyuu stories (actually a Harry Potter/Haikyuu cross over, of all things), but morphed into something completely different. I do plan on writing the original story I planned on writing for her, but this story itself can stand alone so I'm posting it separately. This was not the story I set out to write, but it happened and I'm happy to share it, as bewildering it is to everyone that I wrote it. A lot of real life research went into this story. A lot. Most of it eventually was left on the cutting room floor, but if you have questions feel free to ask or speculate.  
> 2\. Real life is complicated and these are fictional characters. I like to think both Shizuka and Takeshi eventually found relationships which were more fulling and in which both partners were on equal footing, but I don't plan on writing that story. I also didn't want to dig into the demise of this relationship too deeply, as it was depressing as heck.  
> 3\. I do like to hear from readers who enjoyed the story--what made you laugh? what was your favorite part? did something confuse you? But please don't comment solely to point out typos or a grammatical error (it's kind of depressing to spend hours on something and then have a person's only response be, "hey, you missed a spot." That's not why I do this)


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